Marking Time

My admiration for the Polish spirit increases daily. Today my students, aged 19-20, were in school early before sitting their English Matura (akin to 'A' Level). They were all smiling and positive, even the least confident, and students from the first class were hugging them and wishing them well. Nothing seems seriously to worry them. We had prayers, and the Priest blessed them.


The spirit of the ułan, the cavalryman (or woman), still lives. As a Pole explained, "The young ułan gets on his horse, bids goodbye to his mother, father, and girlfriend, and says to himself, 'I am off to kill Germans, Turks, whatever. I don't know what will happen, but God does.'"


While I was wishing them well, a colleague told me a beautiful story about his grandfather, a partisan in the last war, who was captured by the Germans and about to be shot. When asked if he had any last words, he replied, "Yes! I bequeath my dupa (arse) to the third reich, and my soul to Almighty God." 


A true ułan, and the Germans, unusually, spared his life.